


The Divine Right

by calico_fiction



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fire Nation Royal Family, Gen, Imperialism, Minor Mai/Zuko, Missing Scene, POV Outsider, Politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:02:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24770512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calico_fiction/pseuds/calico_fiction
Summary: In between that fateful war meeting and the Day of Black Sun, Prince Zuko earns the loyalty of his people.
Relationships: Azula & Zuko (Avatar), Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), Zuko (Avatar) & Original Character(s)
Comments: 61
Kudos: 625





	1. Chapter 1

Zan knows he is lucky to be one of Prince Zuko's aides (as opposed to one of Princess Azula's or Firelord Ozai's). He is new to the position, promoted from the night cleaning staff when Prince Zuko returned from his… time away. When he was informed of his new duties a month ago, days before Prince Zuko and Princess Azula had arrived back home from their successful campaign abroad, Zan had been wise enough to be fearful. The tales are never told except in hushed warnings between servants, but the high expectations and severe discipline meted out by the royal family is well known.

Zan is comfortable now though. Prince Zuko has a short fuse, yes, but Zan thinks probably all benders do. But otherwise Prince Zuko is generally quiet and grateful. Waiting on him, surprisingly enough, is significantly less work than cleaning was. And, although Zan is not so arrogant as to brag of it aloud, Prince Zuko seems to favor him. It probably doesn't hurt that they are relatively close in age. And Zan can't deny that he himself has gained a certain fondness for Prince Zuko in return - the urge to protect him, to care for him; very useful desires to have as his aide.

All this to say that Zan is instantly worried over Prince Zuko when he returns to his personal wing of the palace after the war meeting. Prince Zuko is pale, and he seems to wobble slightly - not that anyone chosen by Agni, as the royal family is, would ever _trip_ of course (not that Zan would be so foolish as to acknowledge anyway). But the servants of the palace know that their rulers are fallible enough at least to take ill. Prince Zuko especially, Zan remembers from the documents that were spread years ago to show that he might not have the Divine Right after all and that have been redacted now, is prone to sickness at the change of the seasons.

"Water, my Prince?" Zan offers softly, gesturing with the pitcher and glass that he had brought with him to the wing's foyer to greet Prince Zuko with.

"Thank you," Prince Zuko accepts. He braces himself on the wall opposite Zan and hangs his head. Zan surreptitiously draws the dark curtain over the doorway with one hand as he hands Prince Zuko his water with the other, so that no one who might be passing by can see Prince Zuko looking so impeachable.

"Forgive me," Zan adds, confident that Prince Zuko will. "Perhaps you would like to rest a moment? Surely such noble work must be tiring." Zan is not sure how noble those meetings are, or in fact how much 'work' is done at them, but he is sure that Prince Zuko needs to sit down. His hair is beginning to fall, strand by strand, over his face. It's understandable - Prince Zuko's hair is short, and his days are long - but not becoming of his status.

Prince Zuko lets out a terrible noise. It's sharp and bitter and makes Zan jump. He recognizes it after a moment as a laugh - or a thing resembling one. It breaks Zan's heart a little to hear it. It's so ugly it hardly even counts. Zan averts his gaze. It's above his natural station to observe the Prince in pain, despite how little Prince Zuko seems to care that he has a witness.

"I don't have time to rest, Zan," he says, and Zan jumps again. He had thought Prince Zuko fond of him, but he hadn't known that fondness to be so great that Prince Zuko would know his name. "Not anymore." Prince Zuko finishes his water and stands straight, handing the glass back to Zan. He tilts his head back and heaves a deep sigh, sending up a thick cloud of steam.

"Will you fix my hair for me?" Prince Zuko asks when he is done… with whatever it is that was for. He doesn't seem to be in a temper, and Zan knows him well enough to know it wasn't a reminder of his power.

"Of course, my Prince." Zan bows quickly, only rising fully when Prince Zuko begins to lead the way across the foyer toward the long hall to his personal rooms. The Prince's hair and skin are usually cared for by more than one aide, to speed the process and to make it both more pleasant and less intimate, but Zan wouldn't feel any desire to refuse even if he could. It's less scary to be alone with Prince Zuko than it was to be alone in the palace at night where Zan could run into- _someone_ in the dark.

Prince Zuko leads Zan to his bedroom and gestures him inside. Zan has only stood at the threshold before, but he dutifully keeps his eyes averted towards the ground so as not to overstep Prince Zuko's privacy. Prince Zuko gives the odd little hitched sigh that Zan has learned is his genuine laugh.

"You don't have to do that," Prince Zuko tells him. "I invited you inside, didn't I?"

"Of course, my Prince," Zan agrees, but he doesn't lift his gaze any more than is necessary to navigate the room. It feels good to show Prince Zuko that respect. In the month that he has worked so closely to Prince Zuko, Zan has begun to suspect that perhaps he hasn't seen as much of that as he deserves.

Prince Zuko sighs out his broken laugh again, and doesn't push the issue. He pulls out the ornately carved chair at his writing desk. He sits and gracefully folds his legs into a lotus underneath him. Zan is too young to remember the scrolls of Firelady Ursa very well (now all burned so that it's almost as if she never existed), but the way Prince Zuko sits reminds him of her anyway. Firelord Ozai and Princess Azula both tower, sharp and rigid, and General Iroh once sat much the same. Zan thinks, in fact, that Prince Zuko must have inherited a great many things from his mother.

Prince Zuko takes the crown out of his topknot and places it onto the desk. Then he sits still and silent as Zan unties his hair, combs it back, and reties it. It takes hardly more than a few minutes, but the atmosphere is so leisurely it feels like much longer. By the time Zan is done, Prince Zuko's shoulders are slouched and his breathing is deep and even. Zan finds that he feels relaxed too. It was a pleasant task.

"I am finished, my Prince," Zan announces, loathe as he is to interrupt the quiet. Prince Zuko hums in acknowledgement and lifts his head after a pause.

"Thank you," he says as he pins his crown back on. He rises when he's done and adds, "I'm going to the library. If anyone asks after me, tell them I asked not to be disturbed. And, uh, if I'm not back by nightfall come get me." This is a completely routine request. Zan bows to hide his smile.

"Don't laugh at me," says Prince Zuko. But Zan knows him well enough by now to know it's not a real reprimand.

"Of course not, my Prince. I wouldn't dream of it," Zan says, and his hidden smile grows when Prince Zuko lets loose another mirthful huff.

Prince Zuko returns from the library well before Zan was told to retrieve him, with his hair once again in disarray, and pale again, and a little bit sweaty. Zan draws the curtain quickly behind him.

"Still no interruptions," Prince Zuko orders in a breathless rush as he all but tumbles his way down the hall and into his bedroom. Zan follows just in case he is needed, but halts to the side of the doorway this time. He expects Prince Zuko to slam his door shut, as he so often does, but he seems to have forgotten everything around him now that he's gotten to where he's going. He lights the lantern nearest his desk with a sharp two-fingered gesture, and then in moments he has buried himself in parchments.

Prince Zuko works for hours and hours. Zan pretends not to notice the Prince's messy hair and rumpled robes, or the eventual streak of ink over his scarred cheek. He stops another servant as she passes and requests a meal be brought to Prince Zuko's quarters when the shadows in the hallway grow long and eerie. When it arrives, Zan carts it into the room and places it at Prince Zuko's elbow, barely knocking the cart against the desk to make sure that Prince Zuko notices it. He receives an incoherent noise of thanks.

"Okay," Zan hears Prince Zuko mutter to himself when his lantern has been the only light in sight for a while. "Okay, I can do this. But how do I keep it from them?" Zan feels his eyes widen. 'Them' can only mean… _them_. Instantly, Zan's heart quickens by a beat. Is Prince Zuko planning treason?

But Prince Zuko is an honorable man, Zan knows. He treats Zan well, and all of his other aides, and every servant he sees, and the turtle-ducks that have only just returned to the pond in the palace gardens a mere week ago, and the palace weasel-cats… And Zan heard once, from another maid who heard it from a cook who heard it from a server who heard it from a scribe who has since disappeared, that Prince Zuko has spoken out for them.

Zan decides impulsively that he will simply pretend that Prince Zuko did remember to close his door before setting to work, and that Zan never heard him say anything. That should be easy enough, and it implicates him next to none.

Another long hour passes. Zan has tea brought up, which Prince Zuko takes one sip of and then pushes away. Zan feels good about his decision.

But then a young woman comes down the hall towards him with a handful of fire floating above her palm and glinting in her eyes, and the bottom of Zan's stomach drops out. He glances behind him through the wide open door at where Prince Zuko is still hunched over his parchments, muttering to himself. And he has to make another decision now. One much harder.

"P-Princess Azula!" Zan blurts out in greeting, much louder than necessary even to reach her as she draws closer. He bows deeply, and prays.

"Oh, _fuck,_ " Zan hears from inside the room, and then a mad scramble as Prince Zuko begins frantically shoving his parchments away.

"Prince Zuko has asked not to be disturbed, Princess," Zan says through the painful lump that has risen in his throat, still over loud, hoping to cover Prince Zuko's suspicious noise. Princess Azula doesn't acknowledge him whatsoever, but Prince Zuko is still swearing and scrambling. Zan mentally screams at himself to think about his own best interest, but he still puts himself between Princess Azula and the doorway as she draws closer. She doesn't stop until she's close enough to him that they would be nose to nose if Zan stood straight.

"Did I ask?" she murmurs dangerously. A question like that would be rhetorical from anyone else, but Princess Azula waits pointedly for an answer.

"N-no, Princess," Zan stutters.

"Get out of my way," she orders, her voice so deceptively soft - not like Prince Zuko's which is always earnestly gentle when it's not raised into a shout. Zan trembles.

"Of course, Princess," he stalls shakingly, and then he bows even lower and gets out of her way.

"Impressive that your servants are still loyal even when you're so _soft_ with them," Princess Azula's voice says from inside the room. Zan doesn't dare to rise from his bow to look and see if Prince Zuko was able to hide everything incriminating in time. Prince Zuko doesn't answer. Zan feels nauseous and faint. Prince Zuko is a _terrible_ liar, what has he _done._

"What are you doing in here?" Princess Azula demands. There is a long pause. Too long.

"Reading," Prince Zuko says. He's breathless.

"Oh really?" Princess Azula purrs, a predator with the scent of prey in her nose. "Reading what?" Another pause.

"It's embarrassing," says Prince Zuko. Zan holds his breath. Princess Azula will find Prince Zuko's plans - whatever they are - any second now, and Prince Zuko will be banished again while Zan is put to death-

Princess Azula bursts into a cackle.

"Zuzu, do you have _porn?_ " she accuses gleefully.

" _No!_ " Prince Zuko yelps. Zan gasps in relief. He can practically feel the heat of Prince Zuko's embarrassment from here, and anyone would take that as confirmation. Princess Azula laughs again, louder.

"Does Mai know you're such a deviant?" Princess Azula teases. It's jarring to hear her sound so genuinely amused. They almost seem like siblings in this one moment, when usually they are an army together (or against each other).

"None of your business," Prince Zuko snaps. Judging by the way she cackles again, Princess Azula also takes that to mean yes. "What do you want, Azula."

"No need to be cranky because you got caught, Zuzu," Princess Azula quips, the sharpness of her smile audible in her voice. There's a very brief pause. Zan assumes she must have rolled her eyes at her brother for being so impatient. "I just wanted to check on you. You missed dinner. Again."

"I ate here," Prince Zuko says shortly.

"Fine," Azula growls. "Whatever. Good night." She storms out of the room, past Zan, and down the hall without a glance back. She makes an incoherent noise of rage as she lights her fist to see by, making Zan flinch.

"Good night," Prince Zuko murmurs, still inside his bedroom, as Princess Azula's light is fading from view. Moments of heavy silence later, his shadow falls over the light spilling from the doorway. Zan rises hesitantly, giving Prince Zuko his own much shallower bow. Against all of his muscle memory, when Zan stands straight he lets his eyes meet his Prince's. Prince Zuko holds his gaze, his mouth set in a grim line.

"Thank you," he says eventually. "And… I'm sorry." Shockingly, he returns Zan's bow. Before Zan can fully process that, nevermind figure out how to respond, Prince Zuko backs into his bedroom again. This time he remembers to close the door.

Zan's knees go out from under him and he falls against the wall beside Prince Zuko's door. He stares blankly through the darkness at the blank stone across from him.

He just became a conspirator.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Given that ACAB, but Ming isn't, and also given that canonically many FN soldiers are shown to be fodder and/or unqualified, and taking into account some real world FN parallels, I headcanon that entry level enforcement and military positions in Sozin's FN are drafted from the pool of all of-age citizens.
> 
> Ming does express that she will carry out duties in her involuntary job despite knowing that they are wrong, believing that she has no choice. Please know this does not reflect my own views, and if reading it will bother you then skip this chapter.

It's almost heartbreakingly naive that Prince Zuko really thinks there's any chance of privacy when he visits his uncle. That he thinks only one guard at a time has to know he's there, and that each of those guards wouldn't spread the information around in a heartbeat if they thought it would get them anything other than punished.

Ming tries not to listen when she happens to be the nearest guard for Zuko's visits. She knows in her heart that every person is just that - a person. Everyone deserves a little understanding. She tries her best to provide what little mercy and kindness she can for the prisoners until the years on her draft finally run out and she can go to college instead. And Ming thinks Prince Zuko, despite him being a part of... all of this, needs understanding just as much as anyone else. He's still just a boy, half a decade younger than Ming. Iroh talks about him to her sometimes. She feels for them.

This visit has been quiet so far. Almost silent. Zuko came in, with his customary threat to her which Ming knows both from experience and from Iroh is hollow, and then a soft greeting for his uncle and has said nothing else so far. Ming had peeked inside, just to check that nothing hinky was going on - not that she really thinks there would be, but that is her job - and Zuko had been sitting on the floor in front of the bars. He hadn't even seemed to be looking at Iroh, and Iroh had his back turned to him as he has every time. Ming had leaned back out of the doorway again. Nothing more than that is any of her business.

But the bare stone walls of the prison make for acoustics that carry, and there are no door for safety reasons. No matter how much Ming tries not to listen, she has no choice but to hear.

"I made a choice this week," Zuko says eventually. Ming turns her head away, staring hard down the long walk between cells, as if that will help. Agni, she hopes he doesn't say anything she'll have to report. Iroh never has, but Zuko doesn't have the gift for subtlety that his uncle does. A teenager can't think through every single word the way such a wise old General can.

Iroh, as always, doesn't respond. Ming almost wishes he would, just once. She knows it's not out of cruelty that Iroh refuses his nephew, but Zuko sure doesn't. She wonders every visit if they will ever be able to speak again. She can't imagine being so broken away from her dad. It hurts just to think about.

"I had to pick between doing something right but useless, and letting something bad go unquestioned to do something else that might help," Zuko explains. Ming holds her breath, praying silently that he doesn't give any greater detail than that.

Iroh doesn't answer, but Ming knows he must be listening.

"Does that make me guilty?" Zuko's voice is quieter than Ming has ever heard it, even in those rare times when he comes here and doesn't end up shouting. Every one of those five years between them in age seems to stretch like a chasm. He's just a baby. Ming begs in her mind for Iroh to answer him, but at the same time she doesn't think she knows the answer herself.

Iroh doesn't answer.

Zuko makes an odd little hitched breathy noise, and mutters, "You could at least be proud that I finally learned to hold my tongue." Ming closes her eyes and flinches delicately. If she has learned anything in the time that Iroh has been imprisoned here, it's that Zuko will lose it any second now. He will scream until he runs out of words or until his voice breaks, and then he will storm past her and if he hasn't pulled his hood back up when he does she'll see the too-bright shine in his eyes. But for once, Zuko breaks his pattern.

"I have to-" he starts, still speaking in a quiet voice that reveals too much of his young age. "I still don't want to," he adds, and he sounds so deeply ashamed of himself the feeling is contagious and sinks like a coal into Ming's stomach. She wishes she could just leave her post, but she can't. "Does that make me guilty too?" Ming has no idea what Zuko is talking about now, but somehow she knows there's no way the answer can be yes this time.

But Iroh still doesn't answer.

"I have to finish this first," Zuko explains after a huge, blustery sigh. "But then. S-sorry for bothering you. I just wanted to tell someone. Okay." The rustle of Zuko's clothing echos out to her as he rises. For once he passes Ming by at a sedate pace. His face looks dry in the firelight before he obscures himself. Slowly he blends into the dim as he makes his way down the walk.

Iroh cries quietly. Ming tries not to listen.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Military ranks are a little bit fudged here, in the name of I don't care about the military.

Tu is one part hopeful, three parts nervous. He's relatively low ranking still, only two promotions up from draft rank, and he has never before met any of the royal family. He has seen Princess Azula from a short distance, as she makes her way or gives speeches or orders. And he saw Prince Zuko once, at a farther distance, during the celebration of his return. He had cut an imposing figure next to the Princess, young but broad shouldered and straight backed, marching into view of his people from out of the shadowed palace.

(Tu has never seen the Firelord. He's not over-eager. He's too young to bear such a heavy honor. Perhaps one day Tu will be ready to meet Him. But not until he's a General, if he ever becomes a General. No sooner.)

Tu has been summoned to the palace for an audience with Prince Zuko. The missive was short, requesting only his presence at a certain place and time, and his discretion. He doesn't  _ think  _ he is to be reprimanded. For one, rumor has it that Prince Zuko has a distaste for discipline and delegates it whenever possible. Tu figures that any mistake he might make would be far below the Prince's notice, anyway. And Tu can't imagine that he's had the opportunity to pay Prince Zuko any personal offense. Tu has only seen him that once, and he knows not to speak out of turn or above his station. 

Besides, Tu likes Prince Zuko (not that he  _ doesn't  _ like the Princess or the Firelord, or would ever  _ dream  _ of saying something to that effect). Tu has worked with Guo at the Caldera military headquarters for two seasons now, and Guo worked under Prince Zuko's command abroad for three years, and he says that Prince Zuko is honorable and loyal and driven and smart.

(Guo also says that Prince Zuko has the same hot temper and short fuse that the rest of his family does, but Tu pretends he didn't hear that because Guo shouldn't have said it.

Guo also says a lot of stuff about Admiral Zhao that he shouldn't but Tu doesn't mind hearing that because Admiral Zhao is just a man, and a dead one at that. And Guo is so funny when he's grumpy! Tu is always glad to listen to him rant.)

There are various entrances to the palace, each one of them designated to each station of people that need to come and go. Tu has been to the palace on several occasions to attend war rallies in the West Courtyard, but he has never been anywhere else in the building or on the grounds. He holds his back perfectly straight and professional as he's seen through each progressive military entrance by sets of guards but as soon as he's out of sight of anyone else, Tu looks around at everything with bald curiosity.

"Corporal Tu?" Tu lets loose a very manly yelp as he jumps and whirls around to find the source of the voice. A man a little younger than Tu stands at the corner of a long hallway, dressed in the dark but unembroidered clothing of a high ranking servant. His face is held carefully blank, but his dimples keep his amusement from being fully hidden. Tu is pleasantly surprised, even though the joke is at his expense - and probably purposeful too. He had heard that the palace servants did not have any sense of humor at all.

"My name is Zan," the servant introduces, and bows respectfully. When he rises all trace of laughter is gone from his face, and he meets Tu's eyes with a steely gaze without propriety. "I will escort you to your audience with the Prince. He is waiting for you." Tu gulps as he follows Zan down the corridor. He hadn't thought he was late. He had, in fact, been quite sure that he was early. He hopes that he hasn't kept Prince Zuko waiting long, or at least that he's feeling lenient.

The hallway Zan leads Tu down is even longer than it had looked from the entryway near the military door. There are no doors off of it and it's narrow and dark, the wall sconces far apart and some of them unlit besides. Zan fades in and out of view despite that Tu keeps an even pace with him, and he doesn't look back or speak even once. By the time they at last come to a curtain pulled over the opening at the other end, Tu feels claustrophobic and his nerves have been far from helped.

The sunlight streaming through the high windows in the foyer they emerge into is disorienting. Tu blinks rapidly, his eyes watering as they are speared into by bright, clear light. Zan does not slow his pace and Tu is forced to stumble to catch up with him as he crosses the glittering foyer to pull back another curtain obscuring another hallway. This one, at least, is blessedly short and well-lit, and ends near instantly in a set of towering double doors. Zan stands to the side of the doors and folds his hands in front of him, looking forward towards where they came.

"Don't forget the manners of your station," he instructs ominously, and then he becomes something of a statue. It's like now that his duty is done, Tu no longer exists to him. Tu doesn't doubt that Zan will not move or speak again until Prince Zuko himself commands it.

Tu gulps again, and looks shakily to the doors ahead of him. He knows that he's well trained and respectful, but he shivers to realize that he suddenly can't recall exactly how a Corporal should greet a Prince. He wishes he could stand here until he remembered his lessons word-for-word, but Zan had said that Prince Zuko was already waiting. Clearly Tu has no time to hesitate. He'll just have to do his best and hope and  _ pray  _ that he doesn't offend.

The room beyond the heavy doors is huge and windowless and empty, except for Prince Zuko. He is dressed as finely as one would expect, his hair topped with the golden flame that denotes his status as Crown Prince. He sits in a small throne, and he looks every bit as impatient as Zan had implied him to be, watching the doors grim-faced with his chin in his hand. Instantly, Tu drops to his knees and bends to prostrate himself.

"I apologise for my truancy, my Prince," he exclaims breathlessly to the floor.

"You're early," says Prince Zuko. Tu doesn't move. Of course, he'd thought he was, but Prince Zuko was obviously displeased when he entered, and the Prince doesn't elaborate… After a long, painful silence Tu rises, not knowing what else to do. There is a calligraphy table on the floor near Prince Zuko's feet, and Tu settles himself into a lotus position at it after another short bow. He hopes that's right.

"You redirected several streets in your district when you were a Private," Prince Zuko states flatly. Tu's heart leaps up into his throat. Perhaps this is to be a reprimand after all. There is no one else here, and Tu's commanding officer at the time had said they didn't expressly have the clearance to do it but that she would see it done because it was sure to make those streets much safer. Tu folds himself over the calligraphy table in another bow and squeezes his eyes shut tight.

"Yes, my Prince," he admits, strangled. He doesn't rat out his commanding officer. She had treated him with nothing but respect despite his low birth, and she's a large part of how he got the position he has now at headquarters. He won't dishonor her.

"You are aware of the invasion planned for the Day of Black Sun," Prince Zuko says. Again it is not a question, not to mention a total non-sequitur, and so Tu agonizes briefly over whether or not Prince Zuko truly expects him to answer.

"Yes, my Prince," he finally chokes out, hesitantly lifting his head. Prince Zuko nods shortly and Tu holds his breath, daring to hope that he isn't in trouble.

"I have a task for you," Prince Zuko explains. He seems a little bit more relaxed, though still brusque. Tu's hope grows and he lifts his shoulders as well to sit comfortably. "The citizens will need to be evacuated before the invasion takes place to avoid civilian casualties. You are to arrange the routes for the people to take out of the city, to Dianran Meadow where there will be an evacuation camp set up."

Tu feels his eyes grow round and wide in his head as the absorbs what the Prince has said. Such a huge, important job for someone of his ranking! And given to him directly by the Prince himself! Shaky for a different reason now, Tu nods frantically and sketches yet another sloppy bow over the table across his lap.

"Of course, my Prince!" he accepts, too loud in the cavernous room. "I am honored to receive this duty!" Prince Zuko nods again, and Tu feels as if he could glow from what he realizes now  _ must  _ be praise in some Princely way.

"You are authorized to do anything you need to do," Prince Zuko says, and Tu's eyes find a way to widen even further. Anything? "However, for everything to go smoothly on the Day of Black Sun we need to be efficient. So don't have the Firelord or Princess Azula bothered with this. They have other things to do." Tu blinks in confusion, but nods obediently. It seems strange to him that Prince Zuko mention the Firelord and Princess Azula specifically. Tu would have no way to involve them himself, surely…

"You work closely with Sergeant Guo," Prince Zuko adds after a pause. "I know him. He's clever and reliable. If you need help."

Tu is dismissed shortly thereafter. Zan escorts him back out of the palace, but this time he takes Tu through wide, well-lit passages and foyers until at last they reach the entryway that Tu came in to. Zan bows and graces Tu once more with his dimples, before turning through an entirely different doorway. It must be true that the palace is a labyrinth that only the royal servants can navigate.

Tu makes his way back to his post at headquarters. Guo is waiting there in their shared office. He's illegally smoking some musky-smelling Earth Kingdom herb, blowing the smoke in a thin stream from his mouth out the open window.

"What did he want?" he asks immediately when Tu closes their door behind him. His voice is perpetually raspy from smoking and from so many years breathing in the rough salt air of the sea. Tu ignores the rudeness of his asking, and the seeming lack of respect for Prince Zuko's station, and describes the entire meeting in what is probably an annoying level of detail. When he is done, Guo takes a long draw from his cigarette.

"He really mentioned Ozai and Azula specifically?" he asks. Tu chokes to hear Guo refer to them so informally, but reminds himself that Guo spent three years in close quarters with General Iroh and Prince Zuko and must have gotten used to hearing them speak about the Firelord and the Princess as equals.

(More importantly, no one else is listening. Guo holds his tongue in front of everyone else. Only Tu gets to hear him say what he really feels.)

When Tu confirms with a nod, Guo's face splits into a huge grin and he barks out a raucous laugh.

"Son of a raccoon-dog," Guo swears (Tu makes a strangled noise). Guo laughs again, shakes his head, and puts out his cigarette on the window sill. He swaggers over to his desk and pulls out a copy of the city map and several blank parchments, still grinning. He gestures Tu over with a wink (Tu makes a different kind of strangled noise, face hot).

"Let's get to work."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zuko didn't ask Guo directly because he was sure that Guo would know he was trying to be sneaky on sight (and he was right, obviously).


	4. Chapter 4

Ping brings the message to Trinh to send out to the county supervisors via her messenger hawks. Trinh's hawks are the best trained in the city - in the country, if you ask her, and Ping tends to agree. They are the fastest and (more importantly, in Ping's…  _ experienced  _ opinion) the sweetest. There are a lot of small counties in Caldera. Though the city is geographically small, the population of the Nation's Capital is dense and has to be split up into tiny chunks for efficiency's sake. Because of that, there are a dozen different county supervisors that the hawks will have to deal with all with their own disposition, so Trinh's hawks are the best choice.

That's what Ping told xemself when xe chose her to pass the next part of the job onto. Xe can't quite think of any other reason, but Trinh just feels like the right choice. The officer that had told Ping, whom Ping had never had dealings with before, had stressed that the mission required the utmost discretion. Of course, an evacuation doesn't really seem like spy business… But Ping isn't the type to pick around at things. Xe's just trying to live a full life and keep xer owlcats fed.

Ping finds Trinh in the mews, spending quality time with her birds like she does whenever she can. Trinh had told Ping a long time ago that she only took her first promotion so that she could have a chance at raising the hawks. She talks about them like they're her babies, and the way her golden eyes light up makes Ping feel warm just like sunshine. The smell and the dimness in the mews is not to Ping's taste, but Trinh is sitting right on the floor surrounded by fresh dropped feathers and straw totally unbothered with one of the hawks perched on her shoulder and tucked under her chin, dozing.

"Hey, Ping," she greets quietly, looking up when Ping knocks lightly at the doorway. "Social call?"

"Afraid not," Ping answers. Xe keeps xer voice low for the sake of the hawks, and for the smile Trinh gives xem in reward for xer thoughtfulness. "I was assigned to some major Black Sun prep by Captain Jee, and I've come to delegate on his behalf."

"Captain Jee?" Trinh repeats curiously. "Shouldn't a Captain be at sea?" Ping shrugs. Normally a Captain certainly would be at sea, but frankly any reason that Ping doesn't have to deal with Colonel Bao, xer direct commander, is a gift xe doesn't intend to question. Xe shrugs.

"I guess he must have transferred inland for some reason, I don't know," xe admits. "I'd never seen him before he assigned me, and I haven't heard any rumors either. At least none that I remember." Trinh laughs quietly, her eyes crinkling up.

"There are so many," she jokes. "It's hard to keep track. What's the job you have for me?" She gently transfers the napping hawk from her shoulder to its actual perch, both of them seeming quite disgruntled about it. She doesn't bother to brush the clinging feathers and straw from her backside. An occupational hazard, she calls that.

"They're having the whole city evacuate on the Day of Black Sun, because of the invasion," Ping explains immediately. Xe generally likes to be as casual as xe can, but as a military person xe knows to put business before play and not to dawdle. "Captain Jee has me assigning the evacuation groups for the children and elderly of, um, sectors nine through eighteen, and I need you to help me write to the correct county supervisors."

"Of course," Trinh says. There is a small bank of podium-like desks at the far end of the mews for just this type of situation - when someone must send a message but they don't know who to, or when they only have an oral missive. Ping follows Trinh over. On the podium between them, Ping flattens out xer notes so that they can both reference them, and they get to writing, Ping leaving the matter of address to Trinh.

It's a matter of a few long minutes to write out all of the letters, and then Ping gathers them all up and begins tying them closed and sealing them while Trinh goes to choose the right messenger hawks for each job. She pauses thoughtfully with one on her arm, giving it short little strokes on the top of its head. Ping watches, bemused, as her mouth slowly pulls into a thoughtful frown.

"This doesn't really seem like-" she blurts, and then cuts herself off quickly and casts her eyes down in shame. It takes xem a moment, but after a thought Ping figures out that the end of the sentence would have been 'something that the Firelord would do'. It only takes another thought, Ping repeating the words of xer orders back in xer head too - and remembering, comparing them to the last and the one before and the one before that - to know that she's right. Ping gives Trinh a quiet laugh and a crooked smile to let her know xe won't turn her in for such a borderline treasonous thought.

"By order of Prince Zuko," Ping explains, and then Trinh laughs too. There's real humor in it, and relief. She holds out her arm to Ping so that the hawk's back is to xem.

"Yeah," she says. "That makes more sense."

Trinh is right again, Ping realizes as xe tucks the first letter into the hawk's carrier and snaps it shut. As disloyal as it is to think, xe's never seen anything to show that the Firelord cares for his subjects - and xe has heard plenty about his cruelty, callousness, and careless demands for blood. Trinh wasn't exaggerating when she said there are too many rumors to keep track of, and some of them are less fun to hear than others.

"Wait!" Ping hisses and grabs Trinh's bird-free wrist as she's turning to bring the hawk to the window. She looks back to xem questioningly. "It's-" Ping stutters. The thoughts xe had next happened so fast there wasn't time for them to become words. Not to mention that each was a shade more treasonous than the last - and if xe's right and word gets out, the evacuation might be cancelled and hundreds of civilians could die.

"It's what?" Trinh prompts. Ping has always known her to be kind and patient - at least with birds and with Ping. If anyone is safe to conspire with, surely it's her. But Ping is still unsure xemself, and xe doesn't want to get either of them in trouble, or jeopardize the evacuation.

"It's  _ by order of Prince Zuko _ ," xe repeats with a gentle emphasis. Xe looks into Trinh's golden eyes, anxiously waiting for her to understand… She looks confused, that same frown on her face again, but then her eyes widen and she gasps. Ping lets go of her and she remains frozen in place for just a second before she snaps out of it.

"Of course I will be honored to carry out Prince Zuko's request," she whispers, her voice just barely shaking beneath the weight of knowledge. And then she sends the hawk out, and they can only hope that the next person down the line feels the same.

With every hawk they send, together they stand straighter under their burden. When they are finished, Trinh bows respectfully to Ping, treating xem with more formality than they have had between them in longer than xe can remember. Only a bare few hours have passed since Ping arrived, but the both of them have changed. Ping bows back, serious and grave. Xe can feel it, a warmth inside xem the same as Trinh's smile and sunshine, the beating heart of xer people in xer own chest for xem to protect, and they finally know what the word really means. Honor.

Ping is  _ honored  _ to carry out Prince Zuko's mission.


	5. Chapter 5

Sifu Zhihao's classroom is packed full this morning. Her own students are here, but today they are joined by their too-young siblings if they have them. All of the other classrooms in the school are the same. Zhihao knows this because it was her duty to arrange it.

When the soldier had let himself into Zhihao's classroom on an otherwise perfectly normal day, her gut reaction had been impotent fury and dread. She had assumed him there to enforce some new restriction on the curriculum, or to announce yet another mandatory rally for the Fire Lord, or to recruit her kids to accept promotions after their drafts were over, or maybe even to arrest Zhihao for treason. That's a word that no longer has any meaning here, that was already code for 'thinking too much' under the reign of Azulon, and Zhihao hadn't doubted that she'd committed it a thousand times over in the eyes of the regime. Still, that bare week ago, Zhihao would have denied it, if only so as not to lose her students or force them to lose her.

Zhihao can't be so sure what she'll do  _ next _ week.

The soldier, Zhihao had learned on that otherwise normal day, had not come to her classroom to do the insidious wrongs usually done by soldiers at a school. He had not come to punish treason - he had come to  _ commit  _ it.

"By order of Prince Zuko," he had said. After twenty years as a teacher and even longer as a sibling, Zhihao knows the tone one uses to share a secret. To break the rules.

The gong in the courtyard bangs to signify the time. On a normal day, that would mean it was time to start the first class of the day. But today is not a normal day. Today is the Day of Black Sun.

"Line up!" Zhihao barks, and (unlike on a normal day) she is obeyed. The students with younger siblings go first, the rest behind them, and at the very back Zhihao herself. "Okay, go!" They had practised this every day since Zhihao received that soldier's message. It's the same as the eruption evacuation plan, except this time the youngest lead. Due to the rigorous practise, and the fear that makes the students quiet and careful, every single person is out of the building in a matter of a few minutes.

Zhihao sighs with relief when she gets outside and sees that the carriages promised are really there, each with a driver already waiting. They fill methodically, each boarded to capacity with children and one previously chosen teacher each. She bows deeply to the driver of her carriage before she gets in, careful to show her gratitude and respect properly but without wasting too many precious moments. Yesterday, Zhihao might have scorned this man, though privately; the embroidered flame on his collar shows that he's past his draft. But yesterday is over, and this officer has made the choice to be here today, so for today he and Zhihao are moral equals.

"You are certain there is no one left behind?" he asks her gruffly once the carriage door is shut behind her. Zhihao hesitates. She looks over her shoulder, out the carriage window, at the school. It certainly looks empty from here, but a single child is easy to overlook. There is no way to be completely certain from here, but there is no turning back either.

"Go now," Zhihao tells the driver, avoiding having to say yes or no. He meets her eyes for a long moment, his mouth a grim line. But with a short breath, he turns to face the front and snap the reins; he understands.

The carriages are drawn by iguana-leopards, nearly as strong as komodo rhinos but much quieter. If there is any adult here now that didn't know this was being done underneath the Firelord's nose they surely must know now. The invasion force isn't expected yet, and there is no other reason to be so stealthy.

The school's carriages join with the carriages from the other two schools in the city, and then are followed by more. Zhihao watches out the back windows of the carriage she rides in, just as captivated as her students are by the seemingly endless stream of iguana-leopards and carriages with no sound whatsoever but the rolling of wooden wheels and the short, efficient commands of the traffic directors.

The carriages take them up out of the city and down steeply to the meadow plateau just beyond the ridge of the caldera. It is too small to serve for training or industrial purposes and thus is still green, littered with sprouts of wild shiso-daisies. The meadow is just big enough, or so it seems, to set up a pop-up camp for all the citizens of Caldera City. White tents are still in the process of being raised as the wheels of their carriage roll softer over the grass. In the near distance, steam rises up from a cauldron, next to it bulk boxes of rice noodles waiting to be heated.

"Sifu," the driver of the carriage addresses Zhihao. He opens the carriage door for her, and holds out a hand to help her climb gracefully down its single step onto the ground. He does the same for each and every child in her class.

"To me, pupils!" Zhihao calls, the same command she has given for immediate attention all her career. It works much better today than usual. She is both grateful and saddened by it; it's good that she will not have to struggle and corral her students into safety, but it would have been better for them had they never had cause to fear a greater consequence than a day's detention for not listening to her. "Single file!"

The lot of them march in a silent line behind the officer who drove their carriage, as if they were his soldiers. He leads them to the farthest tent, crowding them in together with another school. They sit on blankets on the grass. Zhihao's garbage collector serves her breakfast, with her mail delivery person at their side.

"See, it's just like a big field trip," one of her students tells his little sister quietly. "Later we'll play games with the other schools." Zhihao watches as he wipes the little girl's teary face and plucks up a shiso-daisy to weave into her hair. She is so proud of him it burns in the back of her eyes. She sets down her noodles and stands.

"Pupils!" she calls again, and the result is the same, all the more shocking for the added number. Children and adults both pause in their comforting, crying, or eating, and look to her.

"Remember," Sifu Zhihao declares. "We have all been given a great duty by Crown Prince Zuko. Do we all remember what our job is today?" There is a rustle as the children wrestle with their shyness, multiplied in the unfamiliar environment.

"To stay out of the way?" someone guesses. Zhihao does not recognize them, but it does not matter. Today they are all her kids.

"Not quite, but thank you for speaking," Zhihao tells them. "No, our job for today is to keep each other safe. We must all stay together and treat each other with respect and loyalty. It will be the highest honor to see this done. Does everyone understand?" Zhihao's own students immediately pick someone nearby to link arms with, stranger or not.

"We understand, Sifu Zhihao!" they chorus, echoed clumsily by their siblings. Their lead is taken quickly by the rest, every child linking arms with a companion for the day and repeating, "We understand, Sifu Zhihao!"

From the very back of the tent an adult calls suddenly, "For Prince Zuko!" The children, ever eager to please and to make a great deal of noise, repeat that too. Outside, the call is taken up by their neighboring tents, and theirs, spreading in a wave all over the camp. Zhihao looks out the flap of the tent, past their driver who is sitting guard for them, as if she could see the young Prince from here.

Sifu Zhihao does not repeat the call. It is not for Prince Zuko that she is here.

But it does matter for something that he is there for her.


End file.
